


Three Weeks of Privacy

by DezeraCain



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, implied vouyerism from Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21714232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DezeraCain/pseuds/DezeraCain
Summary: Tim and Martin were gone for three weeks, trapped in the Spiral's endless doors. And alone, the most unusual things blossom between unlikely lovers. Of course, there is always the aftermath...(semi-spoilers for season 3?)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Three Weeks of Privacy

**Author's Note:**

> Technically this is spoiling the end of the first season, and the end of the second/beginning of the third? I think?

Martin looked through the next strange, twisting corridor. He looked back at the one they’d come from. Counted the doors. Recounted after the thought of Tim’s chiseled face took numbers out of his head. The doors were identical, down to the scratches at the edges and smudges on the knobs. Yet Tim ploughed ahead with that boundless confidence.

Just a few more turns, he insisted. Just a little further. Surely he could hear the ruckus of Jon and Sasha and the worms not too far away. They had to keep going, he’d said, the others needed them. And Martin needed Tim. He needed him more and more as they walked on. Tim with his assured eyes and cocky smile and...

Martin could worry enough for both of them if left to his own devices. He worried enough that he’d run into a door frame when he wasn’t looking. The result was a bloody great goose egg on his forehead, turning all sorts of colors when it didn’t leak red. Martin had heard laughter from somewhere, but maybe it’d been the ringing pain in his ears. Tim, gorgeous Tim, had taken a sleeve off his shirt to make a bandage.

“Honestly Martin you’ve got to open your eyes sometimes.” It’d been admonishment with no force behind it. For Tim had looked him eye to eye and he’d seen the look in his eyes. Perhaps he’d been surprised or frightened by it because they didn’t talk for almost a day after. Or it felt like a day. Their watches said so, and their phones had died sometime in the turns and twists of corridor.

Stopping for a rest, the pair tried to sleep fetched up against the wall under a mirror. Martin had leaned back to daydream, thinking of skin and lovely dark eyes and getting a look under more than just a shirt…

He hadn’t even noticed Tim climbing on top of him. But there was hardly room for protest. And if they heard Michael laughing, watching through the mirror over head, neither cared. There were more important things close to both hand and mind.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A month after the failed Unknowing, Martin wandered into the Archives, down the hatch into the old tunnels. It still faintly smelled of rancid worms and musty stone. But the door was still there. The smudges on the knob and scratches along the frame. Even a little dent where someone had hit their head…

He ran his hand along the wood. The lock clicked and it swung gently open. A long, lithe hand curled around the side, pulling just enough to reveal the almost normal face of Helen. Almost normal. There’s still a hint of wild curls and that wicked curling, too big smile. That ghost of Michael in her. He was still, to Martin, in there somewhere. Still remembered that three weeks of… Lost time.

“You can’t bring him back with wants.” Her voice was so much smoother now that she was Helen. “He’s still buried.”

“I know! I know… I just… No one’s around and… Can I just… Can I just wander? For a bit? I just need to be back there.” Martin’s nervous as usual, but he doesn’t back down when the smile gets wider. “Please. Helen. I need to do this.”

She doesn’t answer just long enough to make it awkward. But she lets him inside. Into those long, ever changing, unchanging corridors. Where every door is the same door. And if he looks hard enough, Martin can convince himself he saw Tim in a mirror, with those beautiful haunting eyes, from a time before the worm scars and the circus and the pains of the real world.

He can walk those corridors and remember their first night.


End file.
